


Long, Strange Trip

by Cat_Moon



Series: Half Breed [7]
Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Cat_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth goes antiquing.  Mick takes a trip down memory lane, to his wild days in a rock band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long, Strange Trip

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the series, "Half Breed." As such, it's a good idea to read them in order. One follows from the other in what happens; they aren't stand-alone stories and you may not understand what's going on if you read out of order.

_Nostalgia. Never cared much for it myself. The past is gone, and you can't get it back. Why waste time mourning for what you've lost… Well, if that's the definition then I guess I've been a pretty big fan of nostalgia after all. I usually prefer to ruthlessly shove those kinds of thoughts into a closet somewhere and lock the door. Dwelling on what's gone isn't a fun way to live – especially when you live forever._

_These days though, it's better. Funny how when your present is good, the past seems better too, as if they're intimately connected and one can touch the other. Imagine my surprise when Beth dragged me to the antique fair and I actually found myself having a good time reminiscing. I saw a chair like the one my parent's used to have in their living room in the 30's, and some old jazz records from the 50's that I enjoyed talking about even if it was just to see Beth laughing when I explained how the scratches and pops only added to the musical appreciation. I knew that's why she was doing this; not some sudden domestic interest in shopping together, she just wanted to learn more about my past. So I indulged her, and pretended she was interested in old furniture. It's me she's interested in._

_Funny how those kinds of thoughts always make me smile._

 

"Hey, check that out," Beth pointed. It was a vintage poster from a Led Zeppelin concert in San Francisco.

"Nice," I commented, looking sideways at her. "We did some Zep cover tunes," I offered.

"We?" She pounced like a dog with a bone.

I smiled, enjoying her enjoyment. "You know I used to play in a band in the fifties." She nodded. "Well, in the late 70's, I decided to try the music thing again. A couple of us got a band together, The Nighttrollers. We played mostly the worst dives around L.A…"

 

XXX

 

Micky Johns sat in a chair in the dressing room/coat closet, tuning his guitar. His wore the 'uniform' of the decade: tight, faded blue jeans strategically ripped in all the right places; a black T shirt with the Grateful Dead logo on it, only one of his band mates had playfully altered it to read the Grateful _Undead_. His hair was long, hanging down to his shoulders. There was an earring in his left ear, a gold cross – in those days he was going through a rebellious phase and thumbing his nose at the humans.

His band mates were similarly dressed. Johnny was tucked away on the old battered, smelly couch in the corner, boldly feeding from one of the groupies who hung out at the gigs. Mick tried to ignore them, concentrating on the music instead. The other guys were pretty much in it for the groupies and the drugs. It was an added bonus; when drinking the blood of the stoned girls they were able to get high. For Mick, it was nice to be playing again, even if he did have to deal with a set of complications unlike anything he could have imagined in the fifties. Cameras were a bit tricky; some of the club goers tried to sneak cameras in to get photos of the band. In response, their roadies were as forceful about keeping cameras away as KISS's were about them not being seen without the makeup.

"Blood, drugs, and rock and roll!" Johnny yelled, having finished 'dinner.' Micky smiled faintly, focusing on the guitar in his hands. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here. When you were a vampire, you had to learn to blend in with the decade. Go with the flow. It didn't do to stick out. It was what it was. But he sometimes wondered if there was something better than this – even for a vampire.

Pete, their bassist, clapped him on the shoulder. "Ready to rock the house down?"

Micky smirked. "Won't be too hard, this place is falling apart. " Pete was a good guy. Human. He was into the rock & rock, hoped to move on to bigger things someday. His brother was turned and it made him sympathetic to the cause. Plus he liked all the groupies the vampires attracted. His brother had gone missing at some point. Guess hanging out with vamps, he hoped to get some lead on the fate of his brother.

"Let's do it," Micky announced, and the band began making their way to the stage. This was the point in the show Mick dreaded most. As always, the minute he took the stage his eyes would roam the crowd, to see if Coraline was there. Hating himself for it. Not wanting to see her…but wanting it, too.

"She's not here, man," Pete said in his ear.

"Good."

"Yeah, you look relieved. But I know I am." The band members had been witness to a few 'scenes' over the months. To the point where Johnny (who was fiercely loyal to his own kind and would never touch any unless it was, reluctantly, self defense), had complained he was going to stake her himself the next time she showed up. "You did the right thing, dumping her like bad news. You know it, we all know it."

"I'm not looking for her," Micky protested.

Pete put an arm around his shoulder. "There's a woman out there for you, Mick. A good woman, who will show you what love really is all about. All you gotta do is wait for her. Don't 'settle' in the meantime."

Mick laughed, but it didn't come out sounding amused. "Sure."

Pete winked. "I saw it in my crystal ball."

"The only ball you have besides the ones in your jeans is that stupid 8 Ball you drag around with you."

"Okay, so it was the 8 Ball. _Yes, definitely_. It's in the stars, man."

"You're stoned, man!"

"Ah, but our gorgeous lead singer is smiling now. So get out there and reel in those chicks!"

Laughing genuinely now, Mick took the stage with his band. The lights were down low, and they started in with a haunting cover of Uriah Heap, "The Prisoner".

 

_I'm a prisoner_

_Don't wanna lock myself away_

_Prisoner - I get so lonely, lonely_

_I'm a prisoner_

_Just when you think love will stay_

_It walks right out on you - out on you_

*(Saad)

 

From there they moved into Stairway to Heaven, and on to a few lively Grateful Dead tunes. It was a good night. Coraline didn't show, Pete won one of the prettier groupies over Johnny, and not one camera had to be broken. Johnny picked out a nice, pretty girl to bring to Mick, saying she was just his type (his favorite blood type, that is). When the room started doing things rooms weren't supposed to do, Mick finally figured out what his band mates whispers and giggles were about. They spent the rest of the night laughing at the normally totally straight Mick, who spent the evening high as a kite.

"Gotta let loose once in awhile, man," Pete had told him unsympathetically. They'd teased him for weeks afterward, making up ever more outrageous stories of what Micky had supposedly done that night.

All in all, a great night. One of the last.

Pete never found his brother. Soon after that, Micky Johns decided to become Mick St. John again, hang up the guitar for good, and focus on the PI gig instead. Help people like Pete find lost loved ones.

 

XXX

 

"What happened to Pete?" Beth asked me.

We were still in front of the rock memorabilia; I was fingering a Grateful Dead bear and thinking of Uncle Jerry. I felt the fond smile fade from my face at the question. "He died. Got into a fight in a club one night, and got his neck slashed with a broken bottle. Hit the carotid. "

I can remember that night as if it was yesterday. I arrived too late to do anything; the fight was already over. Pete lay on the grimy floor in a pool of his own blood. I can even remember the smell of it, thick, rich, tainted with the chemical trace of recreational drugs. He looked up at me as I held his head, telling him to hang on even though we both knew the truth. He was unable to talk, but I'll never forget the look in his eyes. To this day I don't know if they were asking me to turn him, or asking me not to. I didn't.

I felt Beth take my hand, and watched as she brought it to her lips. After a kiss, she held it against her cheek in silent support.

I wanted her to ask me. _Don't you get tired of the dying?_  Funny how much death can be a part of your life when you don't die. Maybe I've been wrong. I don't know anymore. And that scares me.

"Did you ever find his brother?" she asked quietly.

I winced, but finished the story. "He finally came around a few years later. He'd heard about what had happened, and was after me for revenge for not turning Pete. I had to slice his head off."

Beth put her arms around me, hugging me to her. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean for this to bring up painful memories."

All my memories were painful until she came into my life, but I couldn't' tell her that. I smiled at her and took her face in my hands. "It's okay." She gave skeptical look. "Really. It's…good to tell someone. You."

"You can tell me anything," she whispered. I knew she meant it.

"Did you know this story has a happy ending?" She shook her head. "Right after that I threw myself into being a PI, and it wasn't too much later that your mother walked into my office, needing me to find her little girl."

I was hoping to get a smile out of her, but I didn't. "It must get so lonely. Not having anyone to share the decades with. The centuries…"

I grabbed Beth and pulled her to me, kissing her fiercely, not caring that we were in public. Mostly just to distract her from that line of questioning, of course any excuse is a good one to have her in my arms.

"Not now. Please." I begged. "I can't talk about this… yet."

She studied me seriously for awhile; finally gave a small smile. "Okay. Not yet."

Threat and promise, both. I held her hand tightly in mine as we exited the fair. "Let's go home."

Home. Where I could bury myself in her; in her smell, and taste, and her eyes, and her body. And pretend the past didn't exist, the future didn't exist. There was only the perfect now.

 

 

_Time has come to say goodbye_

_To the broken memories_

_They're locked inside like prisoners_

_In a place that no-one sees_

(THE PRISONER, written by Saad)


End file.
